(A/N) Because I missed Caitlin in the sizzle reel. (Yeah, I know, she was by Wally's bedside, blink and you'll miss her, but shhhhh. Let me have my fun.)

The richest man in America checked the time. Shouldn't be too much longer now.

Three.

Two.

One.

A roar echoed through his admin's office. "I don't care what his schedule says, he'll see me right now!"

You could always count on Caitlin Snow to be punctual, even for an appointment she didn't know she had.

His schedule - the one in front of his astonishingly efficient administrative assistant - actually said, Time for Dr. Snow to yell at me.

But they'd played out this game enough times that Hartley knew to say he was in a conference call, or working in his lab, or getting his hair cut by a stylist flown in from London.

(That one had been genius. Dr. Snow had looked ready to rip his throat right out that time, and she hadn't noticed the utter lack of a stylist in his office, British or not, as she ranted. God, he didn't pay Hartley nearly enough. He made a mental note to double his salary again.)

A message popped up - She's coming in, armed for bear. You're on the phone to Tokyo.

He grabbed his phone and swung his chair around, propping his feet on the edge of his desk. She hated that.

He glanced over as she came storming in like a particularly murderous Valkyrie, and casually held up a finger in the universal Just a sec sign that everyone knew really meant you'll wait as long as I damn well please. "Okay, so that's four Pikachu, eighteen Bulbasaur, and an Eevee."

Lucky for him she didn't speak Japanese.

"Hang up," she snarled.

"Excuse me," he said in English, and swung his chair so his back was fully to her. He carried on chatting to dead air about Pokemon, in Japanese.

His chair lurched, then swung back around. She stood over him, teeth bared. "Hang - up."

He tossed the phone on his desk and leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. "Problem, Dr. Snow?"

"You know perfectly well there is. Where's Liliana and why is there a new bimbo in my lab this morning?"

"Lils went back to school. Aww, I'm sorry, were you training her up?"

"She'd almost mastered the periodic table."

Actually, Liliana had been a newly minted master of biology, a tremendously gifted young geneticist who'd been offered the internship chance of a lifetime, working under Dr. Snow. She'd gotten a month of amazing experience and, if his spies in the lab were correct, would get a glowing recommendation from Dr. Snow, one that was fully deserved. Cisco never put anyone in the bioengineering lab who couldn't keep up, and they both knew it.

(Okay, yeah, he'd been sleeping with her, too. Come on. She was hot as well as brilliant, and he wasn't a saint.)

Cisco shrugged. "Her time here was done. And Amber is a fine young woman who deserves a chance to learn and grow and - "

"And go on dates with you wearing two handkerchiefs and a shoelace?"

Actually, Amber hadn't hit on him yet. He was about ninety percent sure she wouldn't. He shrugged again. "Her personal time is her own."

Dr. Snow pressed her lips together and stalked away, her heels clicking furiously on his floor. He watched her pace, wondering if she would just storm out again.

But she didn't disappoint him. Instead, she turned back and planted her hands on the shiny glass of his desk, leaning over it to glare down at him. "I'm going to require advance notice of Amber's end date," she said evenly. It sounded like she'd rehearsed it in the elevator. "And all future interns you place in my lab. Not the Monday after. Not when it occurs to you to text me in the middle of the night. At least two weeks."

He pushed himself to his feet and copied her stance so their noses were six inches apart. "You know, Dr. Snow, I think you have the power structure confused here. See, I'm the boss. And you're my employee. If I feel like sending all your interns home tomorrow, I could. You're lucky I'm so nice. No other CEO would put up with this kind of behavior, and yet I let you get away with it on a monthly basis."

"Why don't you fire me, then?"

His stomach lurched. It felt like panic. He held her gaze. "Because you're the best at what you do. And Ramon Industries gets the best. No exception."

Her throat moved as she swallowed.

"Why don't you quit?" he challenged.

"Because you pay very, very well, and my husband's medical bills aren't getting any smaller."

His stomach solidified. Well, what did he expect her to say?

He snorted and dropped into his chair again. "Don't pull that long-suffering crap. I offered a very generous settlement. I offered to pay those bills outright. You turned both of those offers down." He still took care of as much as he thought he could get away with.

"I don't want your blood money," she said coldly.

"You'd rather work for a man you hate?"

"It's honest, at least."

He noticed she didn't refute the charge of hating him. His chest cramped.

He blinked and he could swear that for one moment, her eyes were warm and she was smiling a fond smile at him.

He blinked again and she was herself again, rigid and angry, eyes cold as ice. But - was he imagining it? - the scowl had softened, ever so slightly.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What?"'

"Your eyes - they went unfocused for a moment."

He swallowed. "Didn't eat breakfast," he said.

He'd had a very good breakfast. A green smoothie with every vegetable known to man, and in the limo where nobody but his extremely discreet driver knew, a breakfast burrito with enough grease and starch to clog every artery he had.

"Well, eat something then," she said, turning on her heel. "And stop calling me up here when you have dizzy spells. I'm your head of bioengineering, not your personal doctor."

FINIS